


Day In, Day Out

by suchgreatheights



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchgreatheights/pseuds/suchgreatheights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week in the life of Merlin and Arthur; in which Arthur’s job is stressful, Merlin’s hobbies are demanding, both of them make time for each other regardless, and—most importantly—Merlin is Arthur’s favorite person in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day In, Day Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday gift for my dear Bella by taking a look at her list of '100 Merlin/Arthur Headcanons' and shoving around 35 of them into one fluffy, give-you-cavities piece giving a look at a typical week in the life of Merlin and Arthur.
> 
> A big thank you to my lovely beta, Caitlin, for giving this a read-through and offering some very flaily, encouraging words. :3

***

On Sunday, it rains.  
  
Arthur likes the rain.  Or rather, he likes the result of rainy days, when he stays inside in the dry warmth of the flat with Merlin.  Merlin, he thinks, loves the rain itself.  Right now he’s sitting in the window seat, long legs stretched down the length of the bench; he tends to do that when the drops fall heavy and the rumble of thunder rolls gently through the flat, because rain puts Merlin in one of those moods where he talks a lot less and thinks a lot more.  Arthur doesn’t mind, although he admittedly grows a little restless when the flat is this still and quiet while they’re both home, because it always leaves him with the uneasy feeling that something is wrong.  
  
He walks over to the seat and lowers himself down opposite Merlin, gently lifting Merlin’s legs so he can seat himself underneath them and place Merlin’s feet in his lap.  Merlin looks up as Arthur sits, a smile already blooming across his features.  It’s not one of Merlin’s big, goofy smiles; it’s a more reserved smile, a quiet smile, an intimate smile saved just for Arthur.  
  
“Hi,” Merlin says softly.  “I was just thinking about you.”  
  
Arthur rubs Merlin’s ankle in his lap absentmindedly. His own lips curve into a small grin.  “Oh?”  
  
Merlin nods, looking back out at the rain.  “Yeah.  Our first kiss.”  
  
It catches Arthur off-guard and he lets out a huff of surprised laughter.  “Because of the rain?” he asks, remembering the night clearly.  Merlin nods again, his fond smile growing.  
  
It was the first day they saw each other after being apart for three months; Arthur had graduated with a degree in business and economics, and as a result, Arthur’s father had taken him on an extended trip to visit the other branches of the company he’d started.   _You can’t expect to run the company one day if you’re not acquainted with all of it_ , his father had reasoned.  
  
Unfortunately for Arthur, running the company wasn’t what he had in mind for himself.  Merlin had been urging him to talk to Uther about it ever since they’d met in Uni, where Merlin had, at the time, been working his way up to a degree in art therapy.  He always told Arthur he had too much to offer to give it all up to his father’s company if he didn’t want to, and Arthur never had a good response.  
  
It wasn’t until the very end of that trip that Arthur finally worked up the courage to come clean and inform his father that while he had every intention of making a name for himself in business, he had no interest in taking over the family company.  Uther was enraged.  
  
Arthur came back home late that night to find his best friend (with whom he was only a little bit hopelessly in love) waiting for him at the airport.  He listened to Merlin’s chatter until they reached the taxi waiting for them in the pouring rain, which was when Arthur suddenly turned to Merlin and blurted out what he’d finally said to his father.  And right there in the middle of—well, everything—Merlin threw his arms around Arthur’s neck and kissed him.  
  
He also spent the entire night that followed with Arthur at his flat, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words as what he’d said to his father kept repeatedly hitting Arthur and throwing him into panicky cycles.  Merlin stayed with him through the sleepless night that ensued, making sure Arthur always had a steaming mug of tea in front of him as he talked endlessly to keep their minds off the shocking events of the day.  Eventually they passed out in Arthur’s bed, exhausted, and Arthur woke up hours later with his face buried in a mess of dark hair—belonging to Merlin, who was waking up sick with a cold.  
  
“You wouldn’t let me out of your sight all week,” Merlin reminds him now, rolling his eyes.  “Like you were worried I’d caught my bloody death.”  
  
“You didn’t know you hadn’t,” Arthur points out, but a grin remains on his lips.  Merlin snorts and Arthur continues to work his fingers over his pale ankles, massaging gently.  
  
Merlin hums contentedly, letting his head rest against the window for a few minutes before looking up at Arthur again.  “Can I show you what I’ve been working on?” he asks a little shyly.  Arthur smiles widely and gives an encouraging nod.  Somewhere on the way to getting his art therapy degree, Merlin picked up composing as—ironically—something of a stress reliever.  
  
Merlin pulls his feet out of Arthur’s grip and stands, stretching lean and cat-like before walking over to the piano and sliding onto the bench.  His hands hover over the keys for a few moments before dropping onto them softly.  
  
This, Arthur has decided, is his favorite part of rainy days.  Merlin loves to play piano on rainy days, and Arthur loves to listen, loves to watch his long, slender fingers dance gracefully over the black and white keys as the soft melody fills the flat.  After a week of papers and reports and frustrated clients and even more frustrated employees, it relaxes Arthur like nothing else does.  A minute or two passes, then Arthur gets up and pads over to the piano, sinking down to the floor at Merlin’s feet and resting his head on Merlin’s knee as he closes his eyes and listens.

Yes, Arthur thinks to himself as Merlin finishes and lets one of his hands drop to card through Arthur’s hair by his knee.  Rainy days are nice.

***

On Monday, Arthur wakes up before Merlin.

It’s not unusual, especially for a Monday, and Arthur takes the opportunity, as he often does when he has a few extra minutes in the morning to stay in bed, to simply _look_.  The covers are pooled at Merlin’s waist and his bare back is pressed along Arthur’s chest, miles and miles of soft, pale skin interrupted only by the bumps of his spine.

Arthur leans back, letting his fingers trace slowly down Merlin’s spine and back up again.  He begins drawing lazy circles against Merlin’s skin, but his fingers soon take on a more deliberate path, beginning to trace words, slow and gentle:   _I love you_.  He loses count of the number of times his fingers trace the words into the warm skin before he hears Merlin draw in a deep breath, shifting back against Arthur’s touch and into the warmth of his chest again.

Arthur smiles and leans down, nipping gently at Merlin’s ear and nuzzling it as he whispers, “Good morning.”

Merlin makes a noise of protest at Arthur’s teeth on his ear.  “No,” he mumbles sleepily.  “Not yet.”

Arthur glances at the clock.  He needs to be up in five minutes anyway, and his lips lift into a smirk.  He reaches behind him slowly, grasping his pillow and waiting a moment before swinging it, without warning, over his own body and around to whack against Merlin’s.  Merlin lets out something between a grunt and a yelp at that, and Arthur laughs and climbs out of bed, stretching with a yawn before turning to Merlin again.  “Come on, up!” he commands.

Merlin groans and buries his face in his own pillow.  “Just get up yourself, you prat.  Let me sleep.”

Arthur simply reaches over, pulling Merlin’s pillow out from underneath his head and smacking him in the face with it.  “Maybe getting your arse out of bed early will do you a bit of good, _Mer_ lin,” he says teasingly.

Merlin, however, remains stubbornly where he is, and Arthur gives up and goes about getting ready for work.  It’s not until Arthur is showered, dressed, and pouring coffee into a travel mug for himself that Merlin finally shuffles out to the kitchen, still shirtless and scrubbing a hand over his face.  Arthur grins without a word, pouring him his own mug of coffee and handing it to him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips and then turning to leave.  His eyes dart to the fridge where he’s left two separate post-it notes with messages scribbled across them— _Take a nap if you’re so tired_ and _I love you_ —before he pulls the door closed behind him.

*

It’s late when Arthur returns home that night, and he closes the door quietly behind himself before leaning back against it with a relieved sigh.  As far as he’s concerned, it’s been hours upon hours of nothing but an aching head and a lot of phone calls, and he couldn’t be happier to be home now.  He looks around the dark flat and realizes with a pang of guilt that Merlin’s gone to bed already.

He walks into the kitchen, loosening the tie around his neck, to find a single light on as well as a covered plate of food sitting on the counter, and he feels something in him swell with gratitude as his stomach gurgles hungrily at the sight.  He glances to the fridge and sees three post-it notes in response to his two from this morning, and he leans closer to read Merlin’s cramped scrawl.

_Took a nap and I’m still tired, you arse_ ; _It’s spaghetti and no meatballs_ ; and _I love you too_.

After devouring the plate of food at perhaps a dangerous speed, Arthur flips off the kitchen light and quietly makes his way to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway and sighing to himself at the sight of Merlin already sound asleep—on Arthur’s side of the bed, his face buried in Arthur’s pillow as he breathes in and out slowly and evenly.  

Arthur’s chosen his own way in the world of business, separate from his father, and he knows he wouldn’t take that back even if he could; but on days like this, the days with long hours and short breaks, Arthur can’t help the twist in his gut, the voice in his mind prattling on about how unfair it is that he has to go the whole day without seeing Merlin properly.  
  
Arthur toes off his shoes and walks over to the bed, not even bothering to take off his tie before crawling in behind Merlin.  He wraps his arms around him, pulling Merlin against him and kissing his ear lightly.  “Hello,” he whispers as Merlin shifts in his arms.  
  
Merlin’s eyelids lift heavily as he turns his head slightly to look at Arthur, but a warm smile spreads across his tired face.  “Hello,” he whispers back, his voice husky from sleep.  He wiggles around in Arthur’s arms to turn into his chest, pressing his face into Arthur’s shoulder and inhaling his scent.  “Missed you today,” Merlin mumbles sleepily.  
  
Arthur cards his fingers through Merlin’s hair, dropping a kiss to it and nudging his forehead against Merlin’s temple affectionately.  “Missed you too,” he whispers honestly.  “Now go back to sleep.”  
  
Merlin nods lazily and cuddles up close against Arthur, and Arthur falls asleep to the soft, steady puff of Merlin’s breath against his neck.

***

On Tuesday, Arthur works from home.  
  
He remains locked in his office for the vast majority of the day, coming out only to make more tea for himself.  Merlin is gone part of the day at his own job, but even after he gets home he knows to leave Arthur to his work.  
  
The day creeps along into the evening, and Arthur brings his work out from his office to the sofa in the living room, but continues at it with no less vigor.  Soon Arthur recognizes light footsteps approaching, and in his mind’s eye he can see Merlin standing by the sofa without even looking up.  “Need something?” Arthur asks as he frowns down at the paper in his hand.  
  
Merlin sighs.  “It’ll freeze like that, you know.”  
  
At that, Arthur glances up in confusion.  “It—What?” he asks, shaking his head and tearing his mind away from the mess of numbers and statements in front of him.  
  
Merlin nods toward him.  “Your face.  It’ll freeze like that if you keep it all twisted and frowny any longer.  I think you’re already pushing it,” he remarks lightly.  Arthur sighs and Merlin drops onto the sofa beside him.  
  
“Well, _I_ can’t help it if people are completely incapable of drawing up coherent reports,” Arthur says irritably.  “You’d think they wrote these in their bloody sleep, for all the use they are.”  He picks up the next paper on the stack sitting next to him, and then glances up at Merlin.  
  
He jumps slightly with surprise when he finds Merlin’s face only inches away from his as Merlin leans over the space between them on the sofa.  “Relax,” he commands, kissing the tip of Arthur’s nose.  
  
Arthur huffs unhappily.  “I _can’t_ , Merlin, not when I—”  
  
He’s cut off by the gentle press of Merlin’s mouth to his as Merlin fits Arthur’s top lip between his own, sucking lightly—tenderly—before releasing it and pulling back an inch.  
  
“You can,” Merlin says simply, his breath tickling Arthur’s lips.  “Just put it down for the night, yeah?”  He leans forward again, lightly kissing the corner of Arthur’s mouth before peppering kisses across his cheek.  “What’s the worst that could happen?” he mumbles when Arthur doesn’t respond, nosing at his jaw.  
  
Arthur’s mind jumps into overdrive as he thinks of _every horrible thing that really could happen_ , but he forgets them all as Merlin’s lips dance across his jaw and chin, and a smile tugs at his lips.  
  
Merlin notices and smiles himself, pulling back again.  “There we go.  Now keep doing that; it’ll balance out the rest of the faces you’ve been pulling today.”  
  
Arthur lets out a breathy laugh and rolls his eyes, pushing teasingly at Merlin’s face, but a second later he catches Merln’s lips in his own, his fingers curling around the back of his neck.

Arthur hums happily into the kiss, his work already far from his mind.  He thinks now of Merlin warm against him, of long fingers skating up his arms, of keeping Merlin tucked into that place high up in his chest where he remains all Arthur’s own.  
  
“Mine,” he sighs into the kiss, so softly he hardly hears himself.  
  
Merlin recognizes the word so often caught between their lips, the possessive arm Arthur wraps around his waist and the surety with which Arthur claims his mouth, and Arthur feels Merlin simply press himself closer with a small noise of agreement.

***

On Wednesday, Arthur wakes up alone.

His arms are stretched out across the space next to him as if he’s spent the night searching for a body that’s not there, and he forces his eyes open as soon as he realizes the lack of softness and warmth and _Merlin_ beside him.  He sits up and looks around the still-dim room, then down at the half-empty bed again, the vacant space where the sheets are cool and untouched.

He frowns, at once feeling utterly cold and alone.

Arthur slips out of bed and walks quietly down the hall and out to the living room.  Merlin sits at the piano, the end of a pencil caught between his teeth, papers scattered around him.

Because this happens sometimes, Arthur knows; Merlin experiences that _burning_ need to compose, as if he’s tapped into some _limited-time-only_ pool of creative energy and needs to focus on drinking up as much as he can before he loses it.  It’s rarely this consuming, to the point where Arthur is gazing across the room the next morning after waking up alone in their bed, and Merlin seems oblivious to the dark circles under his own eyes.

Merlin doesn’t seem to notice him, so Arthur crosses the room and seats himself on the piano bench beside him, reaching up and tugging Merlin’s hand down to meet his.  Merlin hardly even glances up at him.

“You didn’t come to bed last night,” Arthur states needlessly.

Merlin jerks his head in something resembling a nod.  “Yeah.  Writing,” he mumbles.  He tugs his hand out of Arthur’s grip to scrawl something on the paper in front of him, and Arthur’s stomach twists a little at the dismissal.

“I don’t have to be up for a bit.  Come and sleep for a while, yeah?” he tries again.

Merlin glances at him then, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the intense focus on the task at hand, but Arthur thinks there’s almost a twinge of annoyance in those blue eyes.  “I’ll sleep later,” Merlin says as he turns back to the paper.

Arthur almost opens his mouth, almost points out how _he_ won’t be here later, but instead focuses on fighting the sting of rejection in his chest and sets his mouth into a hard line.  He stands up again, stalking out of the room without another word.  As he shuffles around the kitchen before he leaves and glances up at Merlin’s concentrated face every so often, he grabs a post-it note, jotting down the words _Miss you_ on it before sticking it to the fridge and pulling open the door to leave.

He’s not sure if the soft _Have a good day_ he hears before closing the door behind him is actually Merlin or just his imagination.

*

That evening, Merlin and Arthur fight.

Merlin is still tired, and Arthur can see it as soon as he walks in the door.  His own day hasn’t exactly been peaceful, either.  But Merlin is unpredictable and edgy when he’s tired, and Arthur is fragile when he’s stressed, and has frankly felt unhappy and off-balance ever since he woke up _without_ Merlin in his arms that morning, and when he accidentally drops a plate after he and Merlin’s nearly-silent dinner and it shatters on the floor, all hell breaks loose.

Arthur doesn’t remember most of what’s said because most of it doesn’t matter and wasn’t sincere, but by the time he’s ready for sleep late in the evening, he’s grabbed his pillow from their bed and settled onto the sofa for the night.

Arthur doesn’t sleep.  He tosses and turns, he regrets and feels guilt, staring into the darkness as the hours tick by slowly, and at one point he has so many different ways he intends to apologize in the morning that he needs to start a written list.  He’ll do it before he even thinks of getting ready for work, before Merlin has a chance to spend any of his morning feeling hurt over the words from the night prior, and he won’t carry on with his day until Merlin can smile again.

Yes, he thinks as he closes his eyes with his list clutched tightly in his hand.  First thing in the morning.

Maybe Arthur dozes for a bit after that, or maybe it’s really just that late, because soon there’s dim, early sunlight sneaking through the blinds.  Arthur sits up on the sofa, rubbing his tired eyes, but then looks up as he hears shuffling in the hall.

Merlin appears a second later, stumbling into the room and looking nearly as disheveled as Arthur imagines himself to be.  His eyes are red and exhausted—whether from lack of sleep or crying, Arthur’s not sure—and before Arthur can say a word, Merlin’s suddenly crossed the room and attacked him in a hug.

“Sorry,” he sniffles into Arthur’s shoulder.  Arthur wraps his arms close around him, drinking in the warmth of Merlin close to him again and dragging him up against his chest on the sofa.

“Me too,” Arthur mumbles into his hair as he runs his fingers through it.

Merlin leans into his touch and Arthur’s arms tighten around him, refusing to release him even as he pulls Merlin down onto the sofa with him.  They both drift at last into a peaceful sleep, a pile of tangled limbs and slow breathing with Merlin’s nose pressed to the curve of Arthur’s neck.

***

On Thursday, Arthur is late for work.

He drags himself through the day on only two hours of sleep after waking up late that morning on the sofa, Merlin still curled up warm in his arms.  He was scrambling to get his arse ready when he realized the time and rushed out the door without coffee, but not before clutching the front of Merlin’s shirt, dragging him in for a long kiss, and ordering him not to stress himself out today.  Merlin grabbed Arthur by the tie and tugged him in to steal another kiss, finally releasing him with an _I won’t if you won’t_ and pushing him out the door.

Arthur spends the day thinking more about Merlin than all of his clients combined.  When he finally steps into the flat after arriving home, he’s greeted with the warm scent of spices swirling through the air and smiles, because he’s never met a better cook than Merlin (even if he can’t bake a dessert to save his life) and Arthur’s not quite sure how he managed to land a boyfriend with such a wide variety of talents that it almost seems, at times, like magic.

That said, Arthur’s not sure there’s anyone in the world who really does deserve a boyfriend as special as Merlin, but as long as Merlin’s his, he does his best to measure up.

They chat quietly and easily through dinner, but not long after everything is cleaned up, they’re both more than ready to collapse into the sheets, craving the rest that’s evaded both of them for the past two nights.  Arthur stays awake for a while after Merlin succumbs to sleep, watching the way Merlin’s face twitches every so often as it rests against Arthur’s chest.  His lips curve into a smile as he strokes his fingers through Merlin’s hair, content, and almost without realizing it he finds himself again whispering softly, _Mine_.

*

In the middle of the night, Merlin has a nightmare.

When a day last year with bad weather turned into the day Merlin’s mother died in a violent car wreck, Arthur held Merlin close as Merlin sobbed into his chest for longer than either of them can remember now.  He drew him near and protective as Merlin clutched at his shirt, and he felt tears slip down his own cheeks as he mumbled over and over again into Merlin’s hair, _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_.

Despite the time that’s passed and the healing that’s occurred, sometimes neither of them can stop the nightmares.  Arthur wishes more than anything that he could.

He wakes up to Merlin trembling and sweating in his arms, his breath coming in slight pants that fill the darkness around them, and Arthur looks down at him sadly, stroking the damp strands of hair off his forehead.  “Again?”

Merlin nods shakily.  “Y-You this time,” he chokes.  “You were driving and it—you didn’t see—”

Arthur shushes him gently and wraps his arms around his thin frame, pulling him close and tucking Merlin’s head underneath his chin.  “Just a dream,” he reminds him soothingly.  “I’m right here.  I’m not leaving you.”

Merlin presses his face into the curve of Arthur’s neck as Arthur holds him close, one of his hands reaching up to thread through Merlin’s dark hair.  Soon, Merlin’s breathing is evening out again; Arthur can feel his body relaxing against him, and he whispers to Merlin that he loves him, repeating the words until Merlin drifts back into sleep.

***

On Friday, it’s Arthur’s birthday.

He comes home after work and it’s late again.  Merlin wanted him to take the day off, but Arthur couldn’t afford to sacrifice the time, and when he called Merlin guiltily saying he was going to be late coming home, Merlin simply promised he’d be waiting.  

Now Arthur is sighing the way he sighs at the end of every week, when he’s looking forward to a quiet evening and a relaxing weekend with Merlin.  Today he might have been wary of the possibility of a surprise party or some other loud, raucous affair that Merlin might enjoy putting together, but Merlin’s already done that the last three years, and he’s promised Arthur that this year would be simple—just the two of them.

Arthur knows he’s gotten his wish when he steps into the peaceful flat, quiet save for some movement in the kitchen.  When Arthur goes to seek out Merlin, he finds him standing there holding a small cake, looking so proud of himself that Arthur wonders if perhaps he’s gone and found a cure to some deadly disease rather than simply baked a cake.

“Happy birthday,” Merlin says.  His cheeks carry a light flush of excitement, and one glance around the messy kitchen tells Arthur that Merlin probably finished the cake just as Arthur was walking in.

Arthur doesn’t remember when he started smiling so big it almost hurt.  “You can’t bake.”

Merlin nods in eager agreement.  “I know.  But I did.  For you.”

“Is it safe?”

“Probably not.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Merlin sets the cake down on the counter and pulls two plates out of the cupboard, and Arthur walks up behind him, snaking his arms around Merlin’s waist and fitting his chin onto Merlin’s shoulder.  He breathes in Merlin’s scent, closing his eyes as he turns his head to press kisses into the pale skin of Merlin’s neck.

“Long day?” Merlin asks sympathetically as he begins slicing the cake.

“Long week,” Arthur sighs, holding Merlin closer.  He nips affectionately at Merlin’s ear.  “Happy to be home.”

Merlin squirms slightly, but there’s a wide grin on his face as he turns in Arthur’s arms, offering him a slice of cake.  “Happy birthday,” he says again.

“ _Thank_ you.”  Arthur smiles as he takes the plate.  He glances down at the cake and realizes Merlin is watching him carefully, looking far too excited for Arthur to taste his creation.

Arthur smirks at that, and the temptation is too great even if some silly number of years claims he’s supposed to be an adult by now, and he attacks the dessert with his bare fingers, ignoring Merlin’s protests as he shoves a handful of cake and frosting into Merlin’s face.

Arthur’s laughing too much to notice Merlin sinking his fingers into the rest of the cake sitting on the counter, and before he knows it, he has the same mess of cake and frosting shoved into his own face.

“Merlin!” he splutters, wiping at the crumbs and frosting underneath his nose, but when he opens his eyes and sees Merlin laughing—sees his thin shoulders shaking with mirth and his mouth spread wide in a ridiculous, frosting-smeared grin—he bursts into laughter again himself.

And then Merlin swipes his fingers through the frosting on Arthur’s face again, and Arthur catches his hand before he can pull it away, licking at the tip of one of his frosting-covered fingers before sucking it into his mouth, releasing it only when his tongue has stolen the last bit of frosting from it.

“Mm,” Arthur says appreciatively as Merlin swallows, and he steps closer, his hands curling around Merlin’s hips as he pushes him against the counter.  “Not bad at all,” he remarks before leaning close to lick the frosting from Merlin’s lips.

Merlin lets out a small whine at that, like Arthur knows he will, and he wraps his clean hand around the back of Arthur’s neck, leaning forward to crush their lips together in a sugary kiss.

After getting significantly messier (first with more cake, and then eventually only with lips and tongues and teeth), and then cleaning up the kitchen (which might have taken three times longer than it should have after _Merlin_ , and not Arthur, started a suds battle), and then cleaning up each other (in rather creative ways), Merlin tugs Arthur to the bedroom by his tie—the only article of clothing still remaining on Arthur’s upper half—and pushes him down into the soft bed.  The remaining layers between them are quickly done away with, and before Arthur knows it, Merlin is sucking him in earnest while two of his fingers are buried deep inside him, twisting and thrusting, and Arthur arches high off the bed as he comes hard with a shout.

He gathers Merlin to him then, dragging him up and kissing him fervently as he trembles with the aftershocks of his climax, and Merlin smiles into the kiss.  “Happy birthday,” Arthur thinks he whispers, though he can’t be sure because his mind’s gone rather fuzzy.

Soon afterwards, Merlin has Arthur on his back again as he pushes into him slowly and easily, sighing once he’s buried to the hilt inside Arthur and rolling his hips lazily.  Arthur gazes up at him through half-lidded eyes and pulls Merlin down for a slow, sloppy kiss as their hips move together in an unhurried, languid rhythm.

Arthur loves being inside Merlin as much as he loves Merlin inside of him, but right now—as their hips grind together slowly and Merlin’s fingers are wrapped around Arthur’s cock, stroking him lazily—Arthur can’t think of a single feeling in the world better than this, moving together and licking at Merlin’s jaw between shared, soft moans and panting breaths.

When Merlin comes inside of him, shortly followed by Arthur spilling over a second time, their movements slow even further until they still, and Arthur strokes a hand down Merlin’s spine, feeling the warm puffs of breath against his chest as Merlin comes down.  After a few more minutes Merlin pulls out gently, but then simply cuddles closer into Arthur’s arms, remaining on top of him and resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder as he reaches up to thread his fingers into Arthur’s hair.

“I love you,” Merlin mumbles into his skin.

Arthur smiles warmly, his eyes fluttering closed as Merlin’s fingers rub across his scalp.  How the rest of the world can get by without this is a mystery, Arthur thinks.  Nobody else gets Merlin like this, gets to feel his weight pressing them down into the bed or the slide of his skin against their own.  And if it’s up to Arthur, the feeling of moments like these with Merlin can stay their well-kept secret, because Arthur has no intention of ever letting Merlin go.

“I love you too,” he whispers, and means it.

***

On Saturday, Arthur and Merlin sleep in.

They eat lunch in front of an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because even if something about one of the characters throws Arthur off a little and makes him uneasy (he reminds him of someone, but Arthur’s not sure who), it’s worth it to see the way Merlin’s face lights up when Arthur agrees to watch it with him, and it’s even more worth it to experience the animated manner in which Merlin chatters throughout the entirety of the episode, even if a few times Arthur simply has to lean over, pin him against the sofa and kiss him to shut him up so they can listen.

They spend the afternoon in a nearby park.  Merlin drags Arthur over to his favorite tree, the one he says looks like it’s been there since the middle ages, and Arthur tells him that’s impossible and Merlin responds that _nothing_ is impossible, and then Arthur lets it go because ever since he met Merlin, not a single part of him wants to argue with that.

They sit underneath the shade of the tree almost until sunset.  Merlin leans against the broad trunk and stretches his legs out in front of him, and Arthur lies on the soft grass with his head in Merlin’s lap.  His eyes fall shut and he sighs happily as Merlin absentmindedly cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair, his other hand clutching whatever book he’s reading at the moment, and Arthur spends the afternoon dozing while Merlin reads.

Sometimes, on the Saturdays when they decide to do this, Arthur thinks he would be content to simply spend the rest of his days this way, too.

*

That night, Merlin turns off the light and crawls into bed beside Arthur, and Arthur immediately wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist and pulls him against his chest.  Merlin laughs a little and Arthur looks down at him.  “What?”

“Nothing,” Merlin says with a fond smile.  “You’ve been doing that more and more lately.”

“Doing what?”

“Cuddling.”

Arthur frowns.  “I do _not_ … ‘cuddle’.”

Merlin nods, his smile growing.  “You do.”  He snuggles closer.  “It’s okay.  I like it.”

Arthur rolls his eyes.  “Merlin, _you_ cuddle.  I… hold.”

“You cuddle.”

“I don’t.”

Merlin lets it go with another noise like a laugh, but then speaks again after a few more minutes of silence. “You do it while you’re asleep, too.”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“You do.  If I ever move away from you at all while you’re asleep, you just pull me closer again.”

“Then maybe you should stop trying to get away,” Arthur points out, feeling a soft heat creeping up his neck.

Merlin ignores him, pressing his hand against Arthur’s chest and kissing it lightly, his nose tickling through the dusting of hair there.  “And you talk, too.”

Arthur frowns again and looks down at him.  “Now you’re just making this up.”

Merlin laughs.  “I’m not,” he promises.

“Fine,” Arthur says after another minute.  “What do I say, then?”

Merlin’s silent for a bit.  “I love you,” he finally says quietly.

Arthur looks down at him, caught off-guard at the sudden expression of affection.  “I… love you too,” he says.  “But what do I—”

“That’s what you say.  ‘I love you, Merlin.’”

Arthur’s gaze softens.  “I—Oh,” he says, not quite sure how else to respond.

“And ‘my Merlin.’  You say that too sometimes.”

Merlin ducks his head, but Arthur can see the smile on his lips.

Eventually Merlin looks back up at him, leaning up and pressing his lips to Arthur’s gently before settling against his pillow and against Arthur’s chest again.  Arthur doesn’t bother trying to hide his small smile as he drops a kiss to Merlin’s temple and whispers in his ear.

“My Merlin,” he mumbles.  “Mine.”

Merlin nuzzles his nose to Arthur’s chest.  “Yours,” he agrees aloud with a happy sigh.  “Always yours.”

***

On Sunday, it rains again.


End file.
